


Bitter

by lonerofthepack



Series: Taken 'verse [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Crying, Defiance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exposure, Forced nakedness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Physical Abuse, Struggling, Torture, Whumptober 2020, discussion of non-consensual punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonerofthepack/pseuds/lonerofthepack
Summary: written for whumptober 2020 prompt Psych 101: Defiance | Struggling | Crying"Yes, a very good attempt indeed," Grindelwald said, like he'd been pleased. "I trust you've satisfied your instinct to flee, hmm?"He gags again against the burn of bile. “Fuck yourself,” Percival coughs.“Rude,” Grindelwald chides, and there’s a grip in his hair, the dizzying spin of a world pain-blurred until his gaze has been forced up to meet another gaze, too-bright and mismatched. “Best to keep a civil tongue in your head, Percy, darling--I’d hate to take it from you, hmm?”Part of the Taken 'verse, set immediately after Caught and before Split
Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Gellert Grindelwald non con
Series: Taken 'verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951963
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> In which Percival begins to understand. Oh dear.
> 
> This isn't, er -- quite dead dove? But definitely getting there.

"Yes, a very good attempt indeed," Grindelwald said, like he'd been _pleased_. "I trust you've satisfied your instinct to flee, hmm?"

He gags again against the burn of bile. “Fuck yourself,” Percival coughs, and spits at the hazy shape of dragon-leather boots--and can’t quite choke back a shout as the pain flares, lightning along his nervous system, fire in every joint, the gnaw of insects under his skin. The chill bites at sensitized nerves all the worse, makes him shake with the cold.

“ _Rude,_ ” Grindelwald chides, and there’s a grip in his hair, the dizzying spin of a world pain-blurred until his gaze has been forced up to meet another gaze, too-bright and mismatched. “Best to keep a civil tongue in your head, Percy, darling--I’d hate to take it from you, hmm?”

"Nobody's forcing you,” he snarls — wants to snarl; it cuts off into a groan as the pain spikes again.

The noise in his mouth morphs, sharpens, as he's dragged more upright, almost backwards, as hot fingers move from his hair to his face.

"You'll be punished, of course," Grindelwald continues as if he hadn't said anything, but the bite of fingers in Percival's hair tightens enough to make his eyes prickle with tears and his neck arch more, involuntarily and fruitlessly, to relieve the grip. The touch at his jaw contrasts--just fingerpads, and somehow judt as threatening. "And there will be a loss of privileges, hmm? Something suitable, to make the rules stick a little more clearly-- _ah_."

Percival flinches as fingers move, and at the wave of the wand Grindelwald held, can't entirely stifle his revulsion for the tool or the hand that holds it. 

And gasps, as cold kicks like a horse, as magic rends the soft thin clothes to dust, and steals their meager warmth straight away with them. It's cold everywhere in Nurmengard, the stone chill and oppressive, but it's fucking freezing outside.

"If you are very good, perhaps I'll let you have them back. _After_ you have been punished for disobeying."

He barely has a moment to think, past the blow of the cold, the threat of _punishment_ , the insult of having been taken like an object — he snarls, muscles tensing to struggle. His fingers curl to tighter fists.

The collar flares.

White hot, or perhaps it wasn't heat and was only the serrated rub of cruelty incarnate over every nerve ending at once that rips lightning up his spine, drags a pitchy noise from his throat and grinds his bones to dust. He can't hear over the ringing in his ears, the salt-rust bloom of blood on his tongue where he's bit— 

"My, my, Director, you are just full of poor choices today, aren't you, darling? Come along, let's see to your punishment before you earn another one, yes?"

"F— ah, f-fuck—"

"If you insist, my dear, but it will have to wait until after you've learned your lesson," Grindelwald chuckles. "No rewards for poor behavior. Up you come now."

Another pulse of pain blurs his vision, drags his breath out of him in a sob, makes him curl— a second makes him scramble, up, up enough that the clamp of hot fingers at his nape makes him flinch but at least he's up enough that the collar eases.

"These are quite lovely on you, aren't they," he's asked, a thumb smearing beneath his eyes, skimming tears into a chill swathe. It's a long moment of incomprehension, trying to think over the pound of fading pain, a mismatched gaze devil-bright on his and the tug of Dark-bleached lips quirking before Percival understands he's offered something dangerous, without intending to offer anything at all.

There's nothing to say — nothing he can think of, still panting and shaking, his toes already going properly numb and his fingers not far behind, his skin shivering as every second in the wind steals away a lick of warmth. 


End file.
